


How's The Heart?

by Z A Dusk (snakeandmoon)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Coming Untouched, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's True Form (Good Omens), First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Metaphysical Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Touch-Starved, and for the other kind the tags are a smorgasbord ...., but nothing horribly graphic, in a metaphysical sense, like this is a porn with plot but for their true forms, ok there is actual sex as well but it's mostly true form, pining oh so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk
Summary: In the beginning, in the garden, an angel and a demon are drawn to each other like tides drawn by the moon ... but touching leaves them both in agony. When Crawly is injured, Aziraphale must find a way to help him without laying hands on him. As the years pass, they learn to explore their bond through their true forms, always orbiting each other, occassionally letting themselves collide and create new worlds of love and longing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 127
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations





	1. Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miraworos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/gifts).



> A gift for the wonderful [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos) who is just the freaking best beta and friend anyone could ask for...
> 
> ... and who also beta'd this. I wasn't totally clear on the etiquette of someone beta'ing their own gift, lol, but I also had the good sense to know the fic would be better for it!
> 
> Title is from the song of the same name by Nightwish. This fic was originally called Bloom, but the song fit so well. I highly recommend you check it out! I was also heavily inspired by Caravanserai, by Loreena McKennitt.
> 
> _This fic is complete and I will post a chapter every day._

The first time it happened, Crawly thought it was a fluke. He was still getting used to being in Her fresh new world with its blood-orange sunsets and intoxicating flowers. He’d been trying his human corporation for the first time and had, to his embarrassment, stumbled, finding it a little harder to control than he’d expected. It wouldn’t have been quite so embarrassing were it not for the fact that the angel found him in a crumpled heap under the Tree of Knowledge.

“Are you alright?” he’d asked, all concern and scents of celestial lightning, and strawberry juice from the fruit he’d been sampling. It was the first time he’d spoken to Crawly, as he was called then. His voice had a gentleness to it. His concern seemed genuine, and Crawly’s annoyed hiss subsided into a lopsided smile.

“This corporation takes a bit of getting used to after being a snake for so long.”

“Yes, I imagine it must,” the angel sat down beside him, then drew air through his teeth when he glanced down and noticed the gash on Crawly’s leg. He put his hand over it, and Crawly flinched back in pain. His leg felt as if it had been scorched, and a glance confirmed it was red and inflamed.

“How odd,” the angel furrowed his brow in concern. “I did not mean to hurt you, my apologies….”

“Probably just over-sensitive. Like I said, it is new. I’m Crawly. What’s your name?”

“Aziraphale,” the angel said. 

“That yours?” Crawly nodded to the flaming sword that lay in the grass, burning softly yet not incinerating anything near it. Well, it could probably do some serious harm to demon flesh, but something told him that Aziraphale meant him no harm. Oh, the angel was most likely strong - not just any angel would be stationed at the gate of Eden - but there was a gentleness in his eyes. He was nothing like some of the other sanctimonious wank-feathers Crawly remembered from before the fall.

“Yes.” Aziraphale looked somewhat embarrassed as he cast a sidelong glance at the sword. “For guarding the gate, you know.”

“I see.”

There was an awkward silence. Crawly was supposed to hate angels. He’d been given clear instructions to make extra trouble for any he encountered in the Garden. But, inconveniently, he found he liked this one. He didn’t want to, but it was hard not to enjoy his warm energy and bright smile. Besides, he was the only person who had so much as glanced at Crawly with anything other than disdain or indifference.

It wasn’t a problem, Crawly reasoned. Nothing wrong in enjoying a little company while he observed the humans and figured out how best to make trouble. At first he tried to kid himself that he was attempting to corrupt the angel, but for a demon, he was terrible at lying, and he couldn't convince himself. The mere thought of the angel being in fear or pain made his insides writhe into a knot. No corruption, then. Just secretly appreciating the angel’s company and wishing he could extend his stay in Eden by a few centuries, to stay close to him.

* * *

The second time it happened, Crawly realised it was no fluke. Adam and Eve were taking an afternoon nap, so there was no chance of tempting them - or of Aziraphale half-heartedly trying to thwart him. Crawly and Aziraphale were lounging on the lush grass under a cherry tree, lazily debating good versus evil, in between nibbling on the lush red fruits from the tree.

“Ah, but I’m inherently evil, you see. Part of a demon’s job description.”

“Oh, tosh. You have as much free will as an angel - for what that might be worth.”

“Yeah?” Crawly leaned up on one elbow and grinned at the angel next to him. “And how much is that then? I seem to remember having precious little free will as an angel.”

“You had enough to rebel,” Aziraphale said, a tad haughtily. 

Crawly flopped onto his back and squinted up at the sun.

“Yeah, ‘spose.”

“Do you regret it?” Aziraphale asked, his voice soft and careful.

“Which part? Getting involved with Lucifer? Rebelling? Falling? Not getting to meet you while I was still an angel?” Crawly propped himself up on his elbow again so he could see Aziraphale’s lovely, if currently confused, face. “Because the answers are sort of, no, perhaps a tiny bit but I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, and absolutely.”

Aziraphale glanced down at the grass, but that couldn’t hide the soft blush spreading across his face. Crawly sat up and shuffled a little closer. 

“Would love to have met you before. We’d have been surrounded by terrible bureaucracy of course, but it would have been interesting.”

Aziraphale was gazing at him with such care and attention that Crawly nearly had to look away.

“What were you?” the angel asked abruptly, the fruit long forgotten as he focused on Crawly.

“Beg pardon?”

“In Heaven. What rank? If you don’t mind telling me.”

Crawly shrugged. “S’no secret. Throne.”

“Ah. Then we most likely would not have met anyway. I would hardly expect a Throne to notice a lowly Principality.”

“I would have noticed you.” Crawly told him as he lifted a cherry, grasping the stem between thumb and forefinger, and popped it neatly into Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel closed his eyes with a sound of appreciation that sent an unexpected shiver down Crawly’s spine. Realisation dawned that he wanted to touch, to taste. He wanted to run his fingers over those plump lips, then lean in and lick the cherry juice from them. 

This was a terrible idea. Crawly was about to get up, go find a quiet place on the other side of the garden to wrangle out the strange new desires rising in him, when Aziraphale reached out and caught the sleeve of his robe.

“I don’t understand either,” he said, and Crawly wondered just how transparent he’d been. “But there is no one here to see, and oh, I want to know …”

Crawly leaned closer, reaching to brush his fingers softly through Aziraphale’s hair, finding it softer than any of the petals in the garden. Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes, fingers coming up to stroke over the shape of Crawly’s jaw. There was a sudden  _ crack _ , not so much a sound as a feeling in Crawly’s limbs, as if his tendons and bones were snapping, though in fact they were completely intact. He drew back sharply to see Aziraphale rubbing his own arm and staring at Crawly in shock. 

“What was that?”

“Don’t know.” Crawly tentatively reached out his hand. Aziraphale reached back, and as soon as their skin brushed, Crawly felt it again. Going by the pained look on his face, so did Aziraphale.

“I … I suppose it is something to do with our different natures,” Aziraphale said hesitantly, his voice tinged with sadness.

“I suppose so,” Crawly agreed with a shrug, trying to hide the new agony, a slow, cold freezing of his joy and excitement, that was chasing the pain of touching Aziraphale.

“Probably for the best,” Aziraphale said, twisting his fingers in his robe and looking at the floor rather than at Crawly. “We are on opposite sides after all.”

Crawly tried to say something suitably demonic, but all that came out was a jumble of throat-noises. Pushing himself to his feet, he made an excuse about needing to tempt the humans, and made himself scarce.

* * *

Crawly didn’t plan to mention it again. What would be the point? It had been a moment, a quick and delicious connection with the only person who was ever kind to him. Crawly didn’t need the angel, and the feeling was mutual. Obviously.    
  
He busied himself with plotting how to make the most trouble for Heaven, without giving Aziraphale too much of a headache. He needed something magnificent. Something that would boost his reputation in Hell and give him more leeway to do as he pleased on earth.

He was sitting under the Tree of Knowledge, looking up into the branches and wondering if he might use God’s decree that the tree remain untouched, to cause a delightful amount of trouble, when he felt the sharp crack of celestial energy. And it wasn’t Aziraphale.

“Gabriel.”

Crawly tried to sound nonchalant, though being confronted by an Archangel who he had last seen while being impaled on the end of his flaming sword and shoved over a cliff into Hell, was disconcerting. Gabriel gave him a smile that would have made most people run screaming, but Crawly wasn’t about to be intimidated. Gabriel crouched down so they were eye to eye.

“Here to gain knowledge?” Crawly asked him. “I hear God likes to keep her angels in the dark. Isn’t blind obedience all the rage up there?”

“I heard a disturbing rumour, snake. I heard that Aziraphale has been asking why angels and demons can’t touch each other. Time to nip this in the bud, I thought. I can’t have a disgusting worm like you thinking you’re allowed to lay a single finger on an angel.”

Crawly opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, but his words and breath were stolen by the worst pain he’d ever known as Gabriel reached through cloth and flesh and deep into Crawly’s core, grabbing and twisting at what he found there. Crawly tried to strike back, but Gabriel had him paralyzed. He was ashamed of the wail of pain that escaped him, causing Gabriel’s grin to widen as he drew back and kicked Crawly hard in the ribs.

“Touch him again and I’ll tear your core out completely.”

With that Gabriel was gone, leaving Crawly crumpled and bleeding on the grass of Eden.

* * *

“Crawly! What happened? Crawly please … I daren’t touch you. Let me know you’re alive …”

Crawly groaned and vaguely fluttered the fingers of one hand.

“What happened?”

“Gabriel happened.”

“He … he wouldn’t.”

Crawly managed to open one eye and fix his shaky gaze on the angel.

“Oh, really? Tell that to my shattered ribs will you?”

Aziraphale looked sick with horror.

“How do I … how can I help?”

“Dunno. Probably better not to. Don’t think it would go over well in Heaven.”

“As if I would leave you like this. Just … let me think.”

Crawly groaned quietly and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think or even be conscious at the moment.

“I … I do have sort of an idea.”

“Whassat then?”

“The … the issue seems to be with us touching one another. What if I were to sort of connect with you on a different level, more energy based?”

“No idea how that would help, but it couldn't feel much worse than it does now … so why not?”

A moment later Crawly felt a strange and lovely sensation, as of cool moonlight trickling into the wound on his torso, and deeper, far deeper, beyond the tissues of his body, and into the warp and weft of his ancient energy.

“Oh,” he said before he could stop himself. “That’s … thasss …. good.”

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale told him as he continued to work. Crawly felt his body gently knitting back together, as if nothing had ever harmed it. Relieved, he rolled over and gingerly sat up, smiling at the angel.

“Thank you."

Crawly looked over at the angel, expecting to see a little relief on his face, or at least something approaching calm. But Aziraphale was paler than the lilies that grew on the shore of the river. Crawly grimaced. He could feel that his core was still damaged, tangled and sore, but he’d been hoping to hide it from Aziraphale. He didn’t want to worry him. It wasn’t as if the angel could help.

“I’ll be alright.”

He told Aziraphale, who shook his head.

“I cannot … please, Crawly, may I try to heal you there too? I … I realise it’s a little more intimate but I cannot leave you thus pained ….”

“S’fine,” Crawly said, trying to sound nonchalant and shoving down the thought that he was desperate to know what it would feel like. Aziraphale smiled a little uncertainly, gesturing for Crawly to lie down again, which he did.

When Aziraphale’s energy slid deeper into him, Crawly struggled to repress a whole-body shudder. He’d expected it to be intimate, of course, but needs must. He hadn’t expected it to be so damn pleasurable, though. He could feel Aziraphale carefully moving against his energy.

“I think this will work better if we let ourselves inhabit our true forms,” the angel said, sounding a little nervous. “It will take but a moment then for me to locate and heal your injuries. Would you … would you be amenable?”

“Sure.” Crawly tried to sound relaxed, as if having an angel see his true demonic form was no big deal. And as if the touch of said angel’s energy wasn’t causing a bloom of warmth at the juncture of his thighs and through his lower belly.  _ Satan’s sake _ , Crawly told himself,  _ this really isn’t the time to discover lust _ .

“Very well then.” He could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice. “Let me see you.” Then he slid deeper into Crawly’s energy. For a moment Crawly’s vision whited out, then he remembered he was supposed to be following Aziraphale. Closing his eyes, he let his consciousness spiral out into his true form. It felt like flying. Unconstrained by his human body, he was aware of the slowly turning wheels and dark flames of his true shape. For a moment he was disoriented, then he felt delightfully free. 

He’d been afraid to reach for his true shape since his fall, assuming that where it had once been connected to Heaven, it would now be connected to Hell. But in fact, he found that his true form had taken refuge in space, among his stars. It felt like he’d been burning alive in a fire forever, and was taking his first breath of clear night air. With a sigh of relief, he let his wheels spin and twist, almost forgetting the background niggle of his injuries. So caught up was he, that at first he didn’t notice Aziraphale. Then he saw a shimmer of light, a glowing star that seemed to look in all four cardinal directions at once.

“Aziraphale?”

“Who else?”

The words were suggestions, feelings more than true words. Aziraphale drifted closer and Crawly got a distinct sense of awe and reverence from him. As he hovered, observing, Crawly suddenly became very conscious of the fact that his true form was darker than it had once been, with infernal fire instead of divine, and wheels that gleamed black like obsidian instead of the gold of the sun. But Aziraphale moved towards him carefully with no hint of judgment.

He felt a gentle nudge around the edges of his consciousness, a quiet question as to whether Crawly had ever let another being near his true form. He had not, and told Aziraphale so. The angel’s light flickered in a worried sort of way, but then he was asking permission to seek out the damaged parts of Crawly and heal them. Crawly gave it, and seconds later felt the soft brush of celestial energy against his own. He did his best to relax into it, understanding that the more he resisted, the harder it would be for Aziraphale to heal him. 

It was easier than he’d expected. Easier than breathing - he still hadn’t got the hang of that. Easy as taking a long drink of water from the clear spring in the Northern part of the Garden. He felt Aziraphale’s brightness pass over the inside of one wheel. Even in these forms he could practically hear the angel’s “tsk” as he carefully unwound knots and smoothed out ruffled edges. He moved slowly deeper, passing gentle tendrils of energy over the more serious wounds, deftly soothing each sore spot, until the pain was gone and Crawly was practically purring with pleasure. 

“Crawly.” It was soft, gentle, heard and felt through every aspect of his being. “You’re quite exquisite, you know.”

Crawly laughed then, a laugh that reverberated through each wheel. He hadn’t expected to feel joy. Didn’t know if he still could. But it was hard to feel anything else with Aziraphale’s celestial energy caressing him, moving through and around him as his wheels spun playfully in response. When the healing was done, Aziraphale paused, but made no move to withdraw. 

“You are so lovely,” he said softly, and somehow sounded perfectly like himself even here in the space among the stars. “May I … that is, would it be alright if I touched you a little more?”

“Yes, anything,” Crawly said and meant it. He felt a soft flow of gratitude, then Aziraphale slid himself in and out of the curves and circles of his immortal corporation, letting his divine light illuminate each one. Crawly shivered in response. He felt stripped bare, unable to hide anything about himself from the angel. It was terrifying. And exhilarating.

When Aziraphale let his energy flicker lightly around the inside of each wheel, like a soft kiss, Crawly felt his occult form tremble. Aziraphale’s light grew brighter, streaks of gold and pale blue dappling it until he looked like the surface of the purest ocean on a sunny day. He glided effortlessly between and through Crawley’s massive interlocking wheels, causing the occult symbols on them to shimmer.

Crawly had no mouth to speak and yet he could feel himself gasping Aziraphale’s name over and over. Aziraphale was moving and weaving faster and faster, as if he couldn’t get enough of Crawly, as if he didn’t want to stop. They were pulsing and twining together, sparks of occult flame and celestial luminescence forming where they collided. 

Crawly watched in awe as his infernal fire blazed a trail across Aziraphale’s light, while the angel’s luminous glow painted patterns on his infernal darkness. Then they were pressing together, wrapping as tight around each other as they could until they were a galaxy of light and dark and stars and colour. When Aziraphale shuddered in ecstasy, Crawly heard his own name echoing throughout the angel’s form, as if he was the only thought Aziraphale had at that moment.

Crawly fell back into his human corporation, panting and disoriented. He had a moment of intense self-consciousness when he felt the tacky wetness across his stomach, and realised his earthly body had enjoyed their union just as much as his immortal form. But a quick glance at Aziraphale told him that he was by no means alone. Aziraphale looked shocked and a little shy, but when he caught Crawly’s gaze, he smiled and gave a shaky laugh. 

“Well, now we can say we truly understand the human experience of pleasure. No wonder Adam and Eve spent so much time … experimenting.”

Crawly laughed, pushing himself to a sitting position and snapping his fingers to miracle them both clean. “Humans are never gonna experience anything close to that. But yeah, if I could touch you without hurting you, I would be experimenting with you until Heaven or Hell called one of us back.”

“Crawly!” The angel tried to look properly offended, but Crawly saw the blush staining his cheeks. A few moments later Aziraphale made an excuse about his duties and stood to leave, but not before gazing tenderly at Crawly and saying, “I’m so glad you are alright, dear boy.”

Crawly stayed under the tree for a long time after that, unable to think of anything but the feel of Aziraphale’s divinity brushing his innermost self. 


	2. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale seems to be avoiding Crawly - but the demon won't let that go on indefinitely. Honesty prevails, confessions are made, and the urge to touch is almost unbearable.

They didn’t see each other that often in the early days. Crawly refused to let himself dwell on the fact that every time he saw Aziraphale, his heart did something complicated and utterly human. When they did see each other, the angel would give him a nod of acknowledgement and keep walking.

Crawly was frustrated. Oh he remembered Heaven well enough. Never talk about your feelings, try not to have them if you can help it, and absolutely never acknowledge anything that didn’t fit the Divine Plan (or whatever whim Gabriel was on that day). Aziraphale was still stuck there. He got it. But he also felt ready to claw his own skin off, it burned so hot with the heat of unspoken things.

The next time they passed on a dusty street in a tiny Mesopotamian village, Crawly didn’t let the angel walk past him. He strode right into Aziraphale’s path.

“Alright there, angel?”

“What? Oh yes, perfectly, dear boy. Just nipped in for a quick blessing, you know.”

“And now you’re back off to Heaven? Or about to find some lucky local to bestow divine ecstasy on?”

Aziraphale gave him a reproachful look.

“If you must know, I am going back to my lodgings to rest from this heat.”

“Going to rest? I thought virtue was ever-vigilant,.” Crawly teased, and was gratified when Aziraphale smiled. “So, what do I have to do to earn a divine blessing?”

Aziraphale shook his head, despite Crawly’s teasing tone. “Be mindful what you ask for.”

“C’mon, angel. Are we going to spend from now until the apocalypse pretending we didn’t make each other come, while our true forms were fucking under the Tree of Knowledge?”

Aziraphale flushed suddenly, and Crawly felt a wave of lust shuddering through the angel. He let his eyes drift close for a moment, enjoying the intimate sensation. A pang of guilt stabbed into his stomach like a blade. He couldn’t leave Aziraphale unaware of what he was projecting.

“Angel, look, just walk with me a minute, will you?”

Aziraphale nodded, following Crawly out of the village to the low wall around a nearby garden. Crawly sat down, staring out across the green landscape to the desert beyond.

“Look, it’s probably to do with what we did in Eden, but I can feel some of your feelings. At least, the ones about me..”

“Oh. That.” Aziraphale looked down at the ground, hands gripping the wall. “It’s … since we … you know …”

“I do know, angel, yeah. I think about it every day.”

“You do?”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. As if that could be a surprise. As if anyone could be allowed to see his true grace and power, and not instantly become obsessed with it.

“That alright?”

“I … yes, Crawly.”

He was silent for so long that Crawly was about to goad him into some kind of response, just to break the oppressive quiet, when he spoke so softly Crawly was glad of his demonic hearing. “I think about it every day too.”

Crawly turned away for a moment, letting only the evening see the smile that he couldn’t contain.

“We can’t act on it,” Aziraphale said carefully.

“I know that. Angel, demon. Probably explode.”

“No!” The angel said with passion, turning to Crawly with eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “I cannot bear to hurt you. If I told you, right now, how I feel, what then? I cannot touch you. I will never be able to touch you. And while I do not need to touch you to express my … to …. I do not need to touch you, but if we spend more time together I am afraid we increase the chance of it happening by accident.”

“So you would rather give up the chance to know each other?” Crawly muttered, surprised by how much the suggestion annoyed him. 

“I’m not giving up.” Aziraphale protested. “I am merely being practical.”

Crawly softened a little. His real ire was with God, or whoever had made it so that they couldn’t touch one another, and he told Aziraphale so. The angel gave him a gentle smile. 

“I am glad you stopped me today. I know it was not right, to avoid you.”

Crawly shrugged and tried to pretend it was all perfectly fine, that he’d always expected they would just be casual acquaintances after seeing each other’s true forms.

“I do not know how to … to be around you. You are apparently my enemy. Yet we have seen each other in the most intimate way. And you were beautiful, Crawly, you were so unspeakably lovely.”

“So are you,” Crawly told him softly and honestly.

Aziraphale said nothing, but Crawly saw the way the angel looked at him then looked quickly away with a barely-suppressed smile of pure joy. Satan, but his capacity for true, open-hearted love, far outstripped any angel Crawly had ever met before. 

“What are we gonna do about this, then, angel?” Crawly asked, wanting to hear Aziraphale say it. Acknowledge that there was a bond between them now. Aziraphale turned back to him, his smile fainter.

“I don’t know, my dear fellow. Even if we could touch, it’s hardly as if we could start a relationship. But I confess, the thought of not … knowing you, in some capacity, is unbearable to me. Perhaps we might … perhaps our paths might cross in our line of work? I should like to see you more often. I was being cautious, but of course we could manage not to accidentally touch...”

His voice was trembling and suddenly Crawly understood. The angel was the one with everything to lose. If they got caught, Crawly could spin it as corrupting a celestial being, probably get a commendation. But Aziraphale could be in a whole world of trouble. Offering to see him, even casually, even as two people stationed on the same planet who happened to meet, was an offering. One which Crawly accepted greedily.

“Sounds good, angel. See you around, then?”

Aziraphale shook his head minutely, resting his hand so close to Crawly’s it made him hiss a little with danger and want. “I don’t have anywhere else I need to be tonight, and the local wine is quite delectable. Stay awhile?”

They stayed another three days, sampling the local beverages, talking about good and evil and the Great Plan, and watching the sun set in the ancient Mesopotamian sky.

When they met in Rome, Aziraphale asked him to dinner, and there was something so mundanely, beautifully human about it that Crowley couldn’t resist. Crowley liked food, but that night he forgot the pleasure of eating in favour of the greater pleasure of watching Aziraphale eat. As they downed another glass of the delicious local wine, Crowley found himself smiling at the angel, wondering at how somewhere as cold and rigid as Heaven could produce a being of such light and joy.

Still he didn’t mention their meeting in Mesopotamia. There didn’t seem to be a right moment to say, “hey, remember when you said you thought about me every day?” And so he thanked Aziraphale for the oysters and sauntered away into the night. 

They saw each other more often after that. It seemed by some coincidence Aziraphale was often stationed near Crowley. There was always some new restaurant to try, some play to attend. Aziraphale was wonderful at thinking up reasons for them to see each other, in case anyone asked. Learning more about the humans, while keeping an eye on his opposite number - it was quite expedient of him, really. 

Of course he said all the “right” things about Crowley. Foul fiend, just keeping an eye on him, etc. They still didn’t mention the garden. But Crowley was learning to read Aziraphale like one of the angel’s beloved scrolls. He saw Aziraphale’s recollection of it in stolen smiles and bright looks. He knew the angel remembered. They both did.

One of them was bound to be willing to risk the pain, just to touch, eventually.

It happened in the late eleventh century. Their arrangement was still new and they were celebrating their first successes with several glasses of mead.

“Can’t believe you tempted someone into giving their cloak to a freezing child, angel. How’m I supposed to explain that to Hell?”

Aziraphale gave him a bleary look. “Tell’m I made him doubt everything he thought he knew about the kind of villainous person he was. He’ll be bloody miserable about it, dear boy. Quite, um, demonic of me.”

“Yeah, very convincing demon you are,” Crowley laughed, swaying towards the angel, arm draping over the back of the wooden settle. 

“Touch me,” the angel replied.

“Angel, no. Couldn’t stand to hurt you.”

“‘S my choice,” the angel insisted, and Satan, Crowley wanted to. “I want to know if we … if we can, yet. Oh, but, it would hurt you, too … oh Crowley what a terrible thing to ask, I am so sorry. Let me sober up ….”

“And if we could touch, angel? What would you do about it?” Crowley needled, hoping to fluster Aziraphale enough that he left the subject alone. 

“I’d kiss you until neither of us could remember our own names,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley spluttered his drink, shoved the glass onto the nearby table.

“You can’t just say things like that.”

“Whyever not?”

“You know why not.”

They stared at one another. Then Aziraphale leaned closer, lips so close to Crowley’s that the demon felt weak with it.

“Let me try?”

Crowley nodded slowly. He needed to know, too. Aziraphale closed the distance between them. The second their lips brushed, pain tore through every inch of Crowley’s corporation, making him cry out in shock and pull back.

“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale said quietly, seeming to fold in on himself, somehow, as if he’d shuttered his heart.

“Don’t be. I wanted to know as well.”

“Really, I ought not to be fixated. Touch is but one way to show lo- … to be affectionate.”

“You’re allowed to want, angel,” Crowley said softly. “It’s not ungodly to hunger or thirst, so why would this be wrong?”

“Ah, well. Heaven does not look kindly on covetousness of any kind. Sins of the flesh and all that.”

“Does this feel like a sin to you then?” Crowley asked, with a note of wounded steel in his voice.

“No.” Aziraphale’s voice was barely audible, but Crowley caught the words, treasuring them. “It feels like finding the North star after being lost in the forest.”

“Well then. I can be content with that for now,” Crowley told him, and Aziraphale’s eyes lit up in a way that made Crowley flush slightly, suddenly remembering the feel of Aziraphale’s divinity caressing his wheels. Someone’s sake. He was starting to realise that he was hopelessly lost, where the angel was concerned. Take me, he wanted to say. Accept me as yours, let me love you.”

Instead he said, “Thanks for the mead, angel,” and bid him a good night.


	3. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale have been too lax of late, and they were bound to get caught eventually.

They met more often after that. Things were different between them, easier. They both knew what they meant to one another. And so they did their jobs, sometimes did each other’s jobs, and spent long, lovely nights drinking and talking. Crowley could listen to Aziraphale for hours, the soft cadence of his voice, the warmth. He privately wished he could lean over, lay his head on that broad chest and feel what those words sounded like rumbling beneath his ribs. He was always careful to sit sufficiently far away that even if he drifted into sleep, he wouldn't lean on Aziraphale.

He would often awake, alone in whatever dwelling Aziraphale was currently inhabiting, to find he’d been carefully covered with a blanket while he slept.

In hindsight, they were getting too reckless. Crowley would often think afterwards that he should have seen it coming. But Heaven and Hell both seemed happy enough so long as they got reports. And he and Aziraphale were both doing exactly as requested. There shouldn’t have been a problem.

It was 1256. They’d attended the Gion in Kyoto, Aziraphale to comfort those who still believed in wrathful gods sending plagues, and Crowley to whisper fear and mischief. 

Aziraphale had invited Crowley back to the Ryokan where he was staying to enjoy a bowl of steamed fish and vegetable stew, and a few glasses of sake. They’d been sitting on the tatami mats, idly chatting about anything and everything, enjoying the warmth of each other’s company, when there was a loud crack and the sudden scent of celestial lightning. 

“Principality Aziraphale. I have come to remind you to - oh, Lord.”

The Archangel Michael looked from Aziraphale to Crowley with a look as if Aziraphale had just presented her with a rotting fish and expected her to be pleased with it.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, hello. Well you see, the humans have this lovely phrase, know thy enemy …”

Before Aziraphale could finish speaking, there was another crack and he was slumped in the corner of the room, the paper screen splattered with his blood. 

“You will be fine in a few years. Let this be a lesson to you not to fraternize with such foul beings. As for you.” She turned to Crowley with a sneer. “I’ll let Hell deal with you.”

Then she was gone, leaving Aziraphale trembling, curled into a ball on his side. Crowley rushed to him, only just remembering in time not to put hands on him to comfort him.

“Angel? What did she do to you?”

“Discipline.” There was a dry note to his voice despite his obvious pain.

“Obviously. But how?”

“Bit of a nasty wound to my midsection, feels like. And something’s not right in… inside. Core feels odd. Unbalanced. Hurts.”

Crowley gave a low growl.

“Ought to go after that sanctimonious fool and tear her wings off.”

“Yes, you against all of Heaven. Excellent plan. You should leave, Crowley. I doubt they’ll come back but I cannot be sure, and there’s nothing you can do.”

Nothing you can do. The words settled in Crowley’s heart like knives. 

“The Hell there isn’t,” he muttered. “I can heal you, like you did for me in the Garden.”

“Would that … work?”

Crowley froze, staring down at the angel. “You did it for me … so you think because I’m a demon I can’t heal?”

“Crowley, please …” Aziraphale tried to move, then sank back against the mats, his face pale as candle wax. “I’m so sorry, I just, I assumed healing needed Grace. It wasn’t personal.”

Crowley shook his head, already feeling guilty for needling Aziraphale when he was in pain. 

“Let me try?”

Aziraphale nodded tightly, then curled in on himself more. Crowley took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and reached a tendril of his essence towards the wound on Aziraphale’s torso.

“That ok then?”

“Fine, yes. Thank you.”

Aziraphale said softly, a tinge of warmth in his voice now. Well that was encouraging at least. Crowley worked carefully, finding it shockingly easy to use his energy to knit Aziraphale’s corporation back together. 

“Oh that is soothing. Thank you so.”

Crowley smiled gently. “Anytime. Do you um, want me to ... you know. Take a look deeper?”

“I … yes, please.”

That was all Crowley needed. “Come on then, leave this form behind.”

Before Aziraphale could answer, Crowley let his mind unlatch as he had in Eden. The night sky felt cool on his wheels, like jumping into a cold shower after a sauna. He immediately began searching for the angel, finding him curled in a corner of the sky, his light smaller and dimmer than last time. Crowley felt like crying as he carefully reached for Aziraphale and drew him closer, tucking him into the space between interlocking wheels, keeping him safe.

“I’ve got you,” he told him gently and felt a tiny sob escape Aziraphale in response.

“Shhhh.” He moved slowly, letting each arc of him encircle and soothe the angel. “She had no right to hurt you. No one deserves that.”

Crowley could feel a shimmer of betrayal in Aziraphale, the strangling vine of doubt that maybe Heaven wasn’t good after all. Eons of denial were dissolving and then trying desperately to knit back together. He wasn’t ready to face it. Crowley knew that once he saw it, he’d be truly free and the vine would turn into a beautiful plant that bloomed in him, bold and brave.

All he could do now was heal the angel, which he did with utmost care, soothing and re-shaping damaged parts of Aziraphale as if he was a potter working with the finest, most sensitive clay. Aziraphale was so trusting, resting quietly inside the curve of a wheel and observing with gentle curiosity as Crowley worked.

“Your energy is so beautiful,” he said, as if confessing to something illicit. “Deep and dark and so endless, Crowley, so eternal.”

“S’ yours anytime you want it,” Crowley muttered. Even out here in the dark, spoken without a voice, his words sounded self-conscious.

“You’re stunning.” Aziraphale felt like he was smiling, reaching up tentatively, as if asking permission.

“Yes,” Crowley breathed into every celestial fibre of the angel. “Touch me.”

Aziraphale changed then, becoming a tiny ocean of celestial energy, waves of light shifting against Crowley, tiny sparkles of energy decorating his wheels like spindrift. Crowley felt a gasp deep inside his core as Aziraphale moved. Then he started to move in time, gathering the angel into the spaces between his wheels, exploring him with them, reading the story of Aziraphale as if he was a kaleidoscope and Crowley alone could make sense of the imagery. 

“I love you.” The thought came out surprised-sounding, as if Crowley hadn’t known, let alone meant to communicate it. Every wheel of his form trembled.

“I love you too.” Aziraphale told him, in a way that felt awe-struck. Then the angel was wrapping around and through him, energy pulsing as he rubbed against the inside of each wheel, moving between them as if he would know every inch of Crowley. When Aziraphale let his celestial light flicker into Crowley’s infernal eclipse, Crowley couldn’t do anything but press back until his energy was licking into Aziraphale’s, until they were both penetrating the other so deeply that their energies locked together and left them shaking and crying in the dark, secret space beyond the earth.


	4. Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Crowley has a nasty encounter with a fellow demon, Aziraphale is unable to miracle his pain away. But his heart can offer Crowley's a safe haven ...

Neither of them mentioned it for centuries after that. How could they? They were on opposite sides, after all. They had roles to play and bosses to appease, and joining so deeply felt dangerous, transgressive, so much more risky than oysters or wine or the theatre.

But they kept the memory alive in a thousand stolen looks and secret smiles, in tiny signals that no one else would understand. Crowley would find a black silk cravat embroidered with subtle dark flames at his dwelling, or find himself miracling a letter to Aziraphale such that it would release the scent of celestial lightning when opened.

They never touched. Neither of them could bear to cause the other such pain.

Then, one balmy late summer night in 1941, Crowley felt a shimmer of demonic power as he walked towards his Mayfair flat, fresh from a temptation and trying not to look at the destroyed homes and piles of rubble the blitz had left behind.

“Crowley.” Ligur’s smile was particularly nasty. “You’ve been a naughty demon, haven’t you? Saving an angel.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ligur stepped closer, shoving a photograph at Crowley. It showed Aziraphale and Crowley leaving the church just weeks earlier, smiling at each other. Crowley felt his blood turn to sludge, his limbs slowing down.

“Tell you how this is gonna go down, snake. I can take this to the boss - and, no, it’s not the only copy, I’m not stupid - and we’ll see what she does to you. Make sure Heaven finds out, too. Or, you let me give you the beating you so deserve, and no one ever has to know.”

For a wild moment, Crowley thought about attacking him. A quick switch to his serpent form and he could crush the slimy lizard. But he knew Ligur, and he knew he was just scheming enough to have a backup. If Ligur didn’t return to Hell, Hastur would take the copy to Beelzebub. And Heaven. The thought of what they might do to Aziraphale made Crowley’s throat close as if he was choking. Couldn't risk it. Could never risk that.

“Fine,” he grit out. “But make it quick. I’m busy.”

Half an hour later, Crowley was bleeding out on a SoHo pavement. The bastard had left him there on purpose, Crowley thought with no small measure of venom. Probably wanted Aziraphale to find him. But he couldn’t let Aziraphale see him like--

“Crowley? Oh, my love!”

Under other circumstances, Crowley thought groggily, he would have been delighted to hear the angel call him “my love.”

“Crowley, can you hear me?”

“Course I can.”

“What happened?”

“Ligur happened,” he slurred, and spit blood onto the pavement.

“Can you stand?”

“Nah. Miracle me inside?”

There was a long pause, during which Crowley tasted the rubber and metal of nearby cars and the scent of fallen leaves in the air. All of it underscored by the iron of his own blood.

“Ah, you see. I am on miracle restriction for the, um, debacle with the Nazis. Nearly getting myself discorporated.”

Because of course the universe was just that malicious. Or maybe Ligur knew, somehow, the creep. He and Michael seemed thick as thieves at times, the hypocrites.

“Carry me in then.”

“Crowley, I can’t … it will hurt you so much …”

“Fine. Just leave me to bleed to death on the pavement.”

“You’re not actually dying,” Aziraphale pointed out, and Crowley was relieved at the sparring. It was comfortable. “I … are you sure I must?”

“Yeah. Can’t stay here. You can’t miracle me.” He was getting groggy now, the world flicking in and out. Aziraphale didn’t answer, but Crowley almost felt his soft assent. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly as he slid his arms under Crowley and lifted him. The pain outstripped everything Ligur had done, until Crowley was near to screaming at Aziraphale to stop. But they had to get indoors, and he knew the angel was in just as much pain. Yet somehow he managed to smile reassuringly at Crowley as he made haste into the bookshop, putting him down on the couch as fast as he could, sinking to the floor beside it, breathing hard.

“Angel, I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense. Not your fault at all. Now, let us assess the damage.”

The damage, it turned out, was extensive bruising, shattered ribs, two dislocated hips, a broken clavicle, a snapped femur, and a cracked sternum.

“Crowley …”

“No, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Wring your hands over me and worry yourself into a tizzy. We both know that if my body isn't discorporated, it’ll be fine. It’s tough enough to heal itself.”

“But I can’t help …”

“Can keep me company, though, can’t you?”

Aziraphale conceded that yes, he could do, and went to fetch them both a stiff drink.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Crowley fell asleep before imbibing alcohol. By the time he came round, the world outside the bookshop was night-dark. Aziraphale was sitting in an armchair at the end of the sofa, poring over an obscure book of Enochian magic, and sipping a glass of brandy. He was obviously trying very hard to stay calm. When Crowley raised his head, Aziraphale put his book aside with a relieved smile. 

“Ah, there you are. How are you, dear? Do you need anything.”

“To sleep for a week,” Crowley told him honestly. “I heal fast, angel. Just let me crash here and hide me if any of your lot come around, yeah?”

Aziraphale reached out as if to squeeze his hand, then quickly drew back.

“Of course. Gabriel has chastised me recently enough that he will likely turn his attention elsewhere for now, so we should be safe for a week.”

“Then I’m gonna spend it asleep on your sofa, if that’s alright.”

Aziraphale said nothing, but the sofa grew bigger and more comfortable, with a couple of very soft red and charcoal blankets draped over the back of it. The angel got up from his seat to pull the blankets over Crowley, being very careful not to brush his hands against any part of the demon’s body.

“Goodnight, Crowley,” he said with such infinite tenderness that Crowley’s chest felt light.

When he woke a week later, the angel had gone. The note he left behind was politeness itself, informing Crowley that he had to perform a blessing in Milton Keynes (are you quite sure that isn’t one of yours, dear?), then on to Wales, and Northumberland (easier to do a few in one trip, you know).

Crowley tried very hard not to feel anything about Aziraphale not being there when he awoke. It was probably safer that he wasn’t. Crowley sat up and stretched, miracling himself some half-decent coffee. He had to get back to work.

Yet somehow the incident had highlighted the ache within him to touch Aziraphale, fanning the flames of his desire until it became a need. Crowley knew what desire was. He’d felt it for a small handful of humans, but never acted on it, unable to live with the idea of letting a human do what his angel couldn’t. But this was starting to feel like something more.

A quiet, blasphemous part of Crowley whispered that he’d been made for Aziraphale. That being close to him was the only wholeness he would ever need.


	5. Entwine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has been keeping a secret, and Crowley is not happy. A fraught drunken argument begets deep confessions, which beget a deep and passionate entwining far beyond the earth, out in the stars.

As time progressed towards Armageddon, they adjusted to not touching until Crowley hardly thought of it any more, save for in the darkest moments of the night, when his body hurt with the need to feel Aziraphale’s warmth beneath his hands, and press his mouth to those full lips. Fingers danced close to each other on a flask of holy water, while handing over a cup of tea or a rare antique volume. And nothing was said...

...until one night just before the antichrist’s eleventh birthday, when they’d had a few too many bottles of wine. Crowley had had a frustrating day trying to explain to Beelzebub that yes, annoying a few thousand people on Twitter was absolutely as effective as picking off souls one at a time. He’d been in the mood to relax and enjoy Aziraphale’s company, but the angel was equally out of sorts, having fielded an unexpected visit from Gabriel, who had an axe to grind. 

“He was like some sort of drunken Sibyl, spouting wisdom about everything wrong with how I do my job. At one point I considered throwing my teapot at his head, just to cause a distraction and get him to complain about something different. Vain thing wouldn’t know what to do if I spilt tea on his precious clothes.”

“It’s all shit, isn’t it?” Crowley poured more wine, sloshing half of it onto the sofa and earning a tut from Aziraphale. “The stupid fucking plan, Heaven and Hell, angels and demons.”

“Crowley, you shouldn't say such things.”

“Why not?” He sat up straighter, fixed Aziraphale with an unsteady stare. “Who cares? Hell doesn’t give a flying fuck what I think, and Heaven has already thrown me out. Can say whatever I please. So can you.”

“You know I can’t.” Aziraphale said, downcast.

“No? Well that’s alright then.”

“Crowley, if you’ve got something to talk about, just speak plain.”

Crowley groaned. The thoughts that had been grouching about in his head wanted attention and his drunken mouth let them slip out.

“Y’never mention that we can’t touch, anymore.”

“Why would I? Talking about it won’t change it, Crowley.”

Crowley bit back the comment that he used to. The angel used to talk about it, used to say that he wished it were different, that he longed to touch and kiss Crowley. Swallowing down the longing for reassurance, to know those things were still true, he deflected his ire onto a different question.

“D’ya ever even question why we can’t? Try to fix it?”

Aziraphale went very quiet. Not the soft contemplative silence that came over him when he talked about all the wonderful things humans created. Not the focussed “talk to me and I’ll bite your hand off” concentration of poring over a misprinted bible. A bone-deep silence that made Crowley feel a little sick.

“Are you suggesting that I just let things go on unquestioningly, and did not even think to try and remedy the situation?”

“No … no, angel, just forget I said anything. ‘M just grumpy and pissed as a newt.”

“It’s a fail safe,” Aziraphale said, in a voice like a thin copper wire. “Took me a few years digging in the archives to find out. I … I could not ask anyone, not after Eden, I was afraid they would hurt you again. But I … I did research, yes, and I found that it was designed thus to stop angels and demons becoming close.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Aziraphale looked at him then, eyes shadowed with pain.

“I couldn’t bear to tell you that there is no hope, that it’s not something we can fix.”

“You could have told me, we could have worked it out.”

“You can’t work this out! It’s … it’s just …”

“I swear to Satan if you say ineffable, I’m walking out that door and you won’t see me for a hundred years.”

Aziraphale put his wine glass down. “I was going to say inescapable.”

Crowley flinched. “And that … that bothers you?”

“What? Oh Lord, I’m not sober enough for this.” Aziraphale grimaced and the wine bottles refilled themselves. Crowley groaned. He’d better do the same, he supposed, while being painfully aware that sober Crowley was going to be wicked pissed at drunk Crowley’s maudlin nonsense. As soon as he was sober, Aziraphale got up and moved so they were sitting beside each other. 

“Maybe I ought to have been more plain, but what good would it have done? The only thing to do is to carry on with one’s duties and not complain too much about the things one cannot change.”

Crowley shook his head. “You’ve been an angel too long, thinking you always have to toe the party line.”

“I’m sorry, who raised the antichrist with you?”

“Because you thought it might be part of the divine plan.”

“Crowley, really, what’s got into you? We’ve passed millennia without this coming between us. We know what we are to one another. You know that I love you. I know that you love me. I’m truly sorry I hid the truth from you ....”

Crowley cast a mournful look at his glass and wondered if the angel would mind too much if he refilled it. Probably better not to.

“Nearly the end, isn’t it? All this might be a puddle of burning goo before long, and I’m never going to know …. to know how it feels … Anyway, it’s getting late. I’ll see you soon, angel.”

“Crowley, wait -”

But he was gone before he could hear the end of the sentence. Wracked with guilt at the thought of the angel behind the closed door, the unspoken words left hanging in the air, Crowley headed to the nearest bar to down several bottles of something very strong.

*******

At first he thought he must be hallucinating. Must have had one bottle too many and pickled his brain.

“Zir’phale?”

“Oh, good lord. Let’s get you inside and find you some coffee.”

“Whatcha doin’, angel?”

“Needed a word with you.”

Aziraphale was nudging Crowley towards the door, clearly expecting him to open it. Crowley could do this. He snapped his fingers as firmly as he could, and watched as the door handle vanished. Aziraphale scoffed and raised his hand to fix the problem, prompting Crowley into a determined, if unsteady finger snap, that did the trick. He dimly wondered if Aziraphale had come to scold him for walking out.

“Could’ve let yourssssself in.”

“That seemed rather presumptuous. My word, Crowley, how much did you drink? Sit down and try to sober up, will you?”

Crowley did his best to obey, the dark walls of the flat swimming around him like a black ocean. 

“Sorry for walking out,” he blurted when Aziraphale reappeared from the kitchen and pressed a strong mug of black coffee into his hands. 

“May I ask why you did? You seemed so upset, Crowley, I was worried. That’s why I came here. To tell you again that I’m sorry for not talking to you about what I learned. I just thought bringing it up would only be painful for both of us.”

Crowley nodded, trying to scare up an appropriate response, but nothing came.

“What will you never know, Crowley? You said before that if we don’t stop Armageddon, you’ll never know ...”

“Do you really need me to say it?”

Aziraphale gave a tiny nod.

“Right, then. Thing is, angel, I put up with a lot of shit from below. I can deal with that. Can even deal with being damned. I’m used to it, and at least I don’t have to put up with Heaven’s blasted bureaucracy. But I don’t know how to wrap my head around knowing that we could be either killed in the war or sent back to our respective sides after Armageddon, never having touched without pain. I’m so fucking pissed off about it.”

Aziraphale nodded as if to encourage him to keep speaking, and maybe it was some leftover trace of alcohol in his blood, but suddenly Crowley found his tongue was looser than normal. Getting up, he paced around the room as he ranted.

“Did we ask to be in their stupid war? Did we ask to be created? No! She makes us, then She flings half of us into the pit. And this … this … affliction, it’s like the final insult, angel. I lost everything … my Grace, my stars, my friends. But I found you, and it was worth all of that for you, but I can’t fucking touch you.”

He stopped pacing and walked over to hunker down on the floor, looking up at Aziraphale, who was perched on the sofa. “I can’t take your hand to show you something. I can’t hug you when we haven’t seen each other for a few centuries. Can’t put my arm around you when you’re sad. Can’t wipe away your tears, or hold you when it gets cold.”

Aziraphale was looking at him as if he would burn all his books, if Crowley asked it of him. Crowley got up to sit as close to him as he dared.

“And I can’t kiss you. Can’t press my mouth to yours and find out if you taste as delectable as I think you do. I don’t get to run my hands over your gorgeous body, find out how soft it is. Satan, how I want that, angel.”

“Tell me.”

Aziraphale said, his voice raw. When Crowley began to speak, he closed his eyes.

“I want to explore every inch of you with my fingertips. Want to learn the shape of you by kissing every inch of your skin. I want to find out what you like, what makes you feel good. I want to learn what it takes to have you moaning my name and clinging to me. Damn it angel, I want you, I want to be inside you, I want to hold you tight while you shake in ecstasy. I’m in love with you, is what I am.”

Crowley pressed his hands together to try and stop the shaking in his limbs. 

“Angel, I …”

“No backsies,” Aziraphale said primly, with a twinkle in his eye, clearly trying to bring a little levity. Crowley snorted a laugh at the expression. 

“Who’s been teaching you slang?” he teased. “Got another demon on the side, have you?”

“Oh yes, string of them.” Aziraphale laughed, but his eyes were brimming with tears and Crowley could see that he was trembling too.

“I love you too,” the angel continued. “I always have. Since Eden. Since you trusted me enough to let me see your majestic true form.”

“Steady on, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed again. “What now? I suppose we shall do well enough hiding it from Upstairs and Downstairs. We have had long enough to practice.”

“I guess just ...be honest with each other? I don’t know, angel, never thought we’d be here. Seems silly to prevaricate now … is that not ok?” he added, seeing the wild panic in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Yes, of course, you’re absolutely right.”

“Angel …”

“What if I can’t?” Aziraphale blurted out. “What if I can’t be honest? Sometimes I … what I say isn’t quite what I mean … sometimes I … I sort of panic, Heaven can be so … Crowley …”

In all their 6000 years of knowing one another, Crowley had never wished he could hold Aziraphale’s hand as fervently as he did at that moment.

“I didn’t think. Perhaps just - be honest when we can? And trust that we are loved.”

“Trust that we are loved,” Aziraphale repeated, his eyes brightening. “I can do that.”

“So can I.”

Crowley couldn’t stop smiling. Despite his anger, joy was blooming in his chest, lighting little fires of happiness in his muscles and sinews and cells. 

“You love me,” he said, that stupid smile insisting on getting bigger as he spoke.

“I do.”

“Hm, might have to sort out the apocalypse before you can say ‘I do’, angel.”

“Why, Anthony Crowley, are you asking for my hand in marriage?”

Aziraphale was teasing, but Crowley was suddenly the most serious he’d ever been in his life.

“You’re damn right I am. If we survive this, stop the world ending, will you marry me, Aziraphale? Ah fuck it you deserve better than this. I’ll do it right soon, I promise.”

“Don’t you dare. The honest words of your heart mean more to me than any mortal show of romance. And yes, Crowley, love, of course I will marry you.”

For a terrible split second Crowley was moving forward to embrace Aziraphale, before remembering immediately that he couldn’t. Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic look, and Crowley noticed the angel’s hands were clenched tight against his knees as if to control them.

“Do you remember Eden, and Japan?” Aziraphale asked.

“Obviously.”

“We could … you know. If that’s something you would like.”

“Yes. Someone’s sake, yes. I need you.”

Aziraphale nodded as if they’d just settled an academic argument, rising from the couch and straightening his bowtie. “Bedroom, then?”

Crowley had never moved so quickly, his heart thundering. The traitorous thing was nervous now, worried that Aziraphale would not enjoy merging with him again. But the angel lay down on Crowley’s bed as if he belonged there, and patted the space next to him in invitation. When Crowley moved to join the angel, he rolled onto his side so they could gaze at each other.

“I want you,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, please, let’s just … let’s …”

Aziraphale closed his eyes then, and Crowley allowed himself a moment of studying the face he loved more than anything in the world. Then he closed his eyes too and unmoored his consciousness from his body, immediately reaching for Aziraphale in the darkness. 

The angel came to him willingly, energy rushing over each of Crowley’s curves swiftly, as if he couldn’t get enough of Crowley against him. Crowley felt each symbol on his wheels start to glow, inviting the angel to touch them, to know him in the language that existed before language. When Aziraphale did so, reaching out in a thousand directions at once to read Crowley as if he was the most sacred text, the demon felt himself shudder and change position to pull Aziraphale tighter against him.

He felt the angel’s emotions running across and through his own ancient energy, and suddenly he knew, with every atom, that they didn’t have to wait until earth was safer. They could pledge themselves to each other, right now. 

Aziraphale’s energy fluttered as if he was pressing kisses all over Crowley, and without needing words, he told Crowley that he belonged to the demon, that Crowley could call Aziraphale his. Shivering, ancient energy trembling in love and want and tenderness, Crowley gently opened himself further, proposing to his angel, inviting him to an eternity of being entwined with one another.

“Yes.” Crowley felt Aziraphale’s response ring throughout space and time. Keeping Aziraphale close, Crowley very carefully unwound a sliver of his own energy, forming it into a band of midnight sky, studded with stars. Carefully, so carefully, he slipped the ring into Aziraphale’s energy so the angel could wrap a starlit frond around it and draw it into himself. Then, he formed a tendril of his own energy into a slender ring of the purest white, decorated with golden rays of light, and enclosed it carefully around one of Crowley’s wheels. Crowley could feel all the love and tenderness he’d thought himself no longer capable of flowing towards Aziraphale, like the moon orbiting him, caught in his gravity. He moved so that the ring of Aziraphale’s energy touched the corresponding place where the angel was holding part of Crowley safe within him. 

They were intertwined in the most fundamental way. Married. Crowley let the feeling of the word pass through him, igniting fires of pleasure in him. The light of his joy reflected on Aziraphale until he glowed with the gold of Crowley’s infernal fire. Crowley pulled him close, pressing as much of his energy against the angel as he could, every touch a celebration of what they’d just done. 

“Like that,” Aziraphale whispered in an ancient, layered voice that Crowley felt more than heard. “Oh, Crowley, don’t … don’t stop.”

Crowley groaned, spinning faster as Aizraphale writhed against him. Then the angel opened part of his energy like a flower spreading open for the sun, inviting Crowley in, and the demon thought he might die of pleasure. His mighty wheels were not built for this …. Crowley let his infernal corporation shift to be more snake-like, coiled into massive loops of scales and starlight. 

“Oh … please.” Aziraphale grasped at him, tendrils of energy caressing Crowley’s sinuous form. “Please, closer, Crowley, closer … “

Crowley couldn’t do anything but obey, using his coils to carefully draw Aziraphale near and hold him tenderly as he pushed the lower part of his sky-serpent form through the intricate open space of Aziraphale’s energy. Aziraphale cried his name in a voice that Crowley heard with his entire self, the sound resonating against his heart like a bell. 

He growled, the sound echoing in the dark space around them as he clung to Aziraphale, holding him tighter, letting his ancient serpent form undulate and press into and through the angel’s energy, pulsing in a quickening rhythm. 

Aziraphale met every pulse eagerly, energy clenching around Crowley until they were utterly entangled, sobbing and groaning in pleasure until there was no end, no beginning, and no language save the soft cries of two eternal beings giving themselves completely to one another.


	6. Concupiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley might not be able to touch Aziraphale, but he can tempt Aziraphale into touching himself and telling Crowley his most lustful thoughts.
> 
> That's it. That's the chapter. Enjoy!

Nothing was the same after that night. Many a night in the bookshop ended with them writhing and gasping beyond the earth, beyond the stars, discovering new ways to touch each other. They would fall, gasping, back into their bodies and sit for a long time in silence, struggling not to touch each other, stealing impassioned looks, shivering at the sound of soft gasps and sighs as they settled back into their corporations.

After one particularly memorable night, Crowley leaned as close as he dared and spoke low to Aziraphale. “Angel, you don’t know what it does to me, seeing you so dishevelled after. It makes me want to put my hands all over you, watch you come undone under them. I’ll sell what’s left of my soul if it means I can do that one day.”

“Crowley, you tempter.” Aziraphale laughed, but Crowley saw how he shivered. 

“Do you think about it?”

Aziraphale flushed. “Of course I do.”

“Tell me,” Crowley said, his voice tense with lust.

“I … I imagine everything you just said. Your hands on me, your mouth, pressing as close to me as you can.”

“And what would you have me do to you, angel?”

Aziraphale’s flush deepened, but he kept talking.

“Anything you wanted,” he said, with trust that went straight to Crowley’s heart. “I would kiss you, Crowley, more than anything I long to kiss you, to find out if you taste the way I imagine, of gunsmoke and iron. I would give myself to you, in every possible way.”

Crowley shuddered hard. Aziraphale’s eyes were closed as he talked, but at the sound of Crowley’s punched-out breath he opened them and met his gaze.

“Crowley …”

Crowley groaned and closed his eyes tight.

“My love?”

“Just … want to hear it, angel. Know I shouldn’t. It can only hurt us both.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Aziraphale sounded breathless. “I don’t suppose sharing it is going to be any more painful than having such thoughts alone, without you near.”

Crowley groaned softly, caught squarely between lust and heart-stopping tenderness. Satan, he was so deep in love with his angel … with his husband. 

“Then keep talking,” he commanded, noting with delight the way Aziraphale bit his lip at the tone. The angel hesitated for a few seconds and Crowley was about to reassure him that it was perfectly alright to change his mind, but then he continued talking in a low voice that bewitched Crowley. 

“I think about the feel of your skin on mine. What it would be like to feel your weight on top of me as we pressed together. I imagine your mouth on every inch of my body, Crowley, I think about how it would feel to run my hands over every sharp angle of you.“ He paused, turning to face Crowley with a look that made the demon gasp. “I think about wrapping myself around you and kissing your beautiful face and showing you how much I love you.”

There was a sudden hush. “Good Lord, how I want you.” Aziraphale confided after a trembling silence, tipping his head back to rest against the sofa and closing his eyes. “I want to see your naked body, I want to know what every single rib, every ridge of your spine, feels like under my fingers. Want to feel your shoulder blades like wings, moving as you lie atop me.”

Crowley groaned and gripped the arm of the sofa, hard. “Keep talking, angel,” he hissed.

“I want to taste your skin,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley could see the way his hands were trembling as he gripped his own knees as if to control himself. “I want to find where to lick and kiss your skin to get the best reactions. I want to hear you moan and know my touch did that to you, my beautiful demon …”

Aziraphale trailed off with a whimper, hips rolling slightly, thighs spreading further apart. The line of his erection was clearly visible against the pale material of his pants, and the sight made Crowley’s mouth water. When Aziraphale’s hands slid up so that his fingers were pressing into the crease of his own thigh, Crowley leaned as close to him as he dared.

“Touch yourself. Show me what these thoughts do to you.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes again, turning towards Crowley with a look of such unfettered lust, that Crowley wondered for a moment if it was possible to come just from looking at someone. His own erection was growing painfully tight inside his trousers. Aziraphale kept his gaze on Crowley as he reached down and unbuttoned his trousers, freeing his cock and slowly running his hand over it. A ragged groan escaped Crowley at the sight.

“Fuck, hard to keep my hands off you. Maybe this was a bad idea.” hHis voice sounded strangled and he was aware that his hips were shifting of their own accord, desperate for any friction. 

Aziraphale managed a breathless grin, as he started to slide his hand more rhythmically on his own length. “Then put them on yourself. I see no reason why I ought to do this alone.”

Oh, if that wasn’t the most erotic idea. Crowley hastily unzipped his trousers and took himself in hand, growling softly at the feel of his own hot and eager fingers sliding over his hardness. A whine escaped Aziraphale as he watched, and the sound made Crowley harder. 

“Do you do this when you’re alone, angel? Do you imagine I’m touching you?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes again, voice trembling as he spoke. “More than I dare admit, and for longer than I want to say. I’ve wanted you for so long, Crowley. I know you would be so good to me, and you’d let me be good to you ... oh, God …” His hips were rocking faster, his hand sliding quicker over his cock, and Crowley couldn’t do anything but pick up his own pace, breath coming in short, pleading gasps.

“I would give anything,” he panted, moon-pale curls clinging damply to his forehead “to know how you felt inside me, to take you deep in my mouth … Crowley …” he gripped the arm of the sofa with his free hand, wood splintering slightly as he shouted Crowley’s name, thighs trembling as he came hard. Crowley’s senses were suddenly flooded with the angel’s adoration as his release left Aziraphale unguarded, his emotions falling around Crowley like sunbeams and warming the demon as he lost control, his own orgasm tearing Aziraphale’s name from the depths of his soul.

When Crowley could think again, he gently miracled them both clean. “Angel … you alright?”

Aziraphale nodded, still panting lightly.

“I am so very glad we could share such intimacy, my love. I do not regret a moment.”

Crowley let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Me too, angel. And it will give me something to think about when I’m giving myself a treat for at least the next millennium.”

Azirphale’s indignant snort was belied by his helpless giggle as he threw the nearest cushion at Crowley. Then he grew serious in a way that made Crowley feel seen, as if he was important.

“I am so proud to be yours, Crowley. Whatever happens next, I will always be that.”


	7. Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are not worth the risk.

Crowley almost asked Aziraphale for one touch, one kiss, before they swapped corporations. But he couldn’t bear for what might be his last moment with his angel to be one that caused him pain.


	8. Completion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world didn't end. An angel and a demon are in love. And their body swap has left them with unintended, and delightful, consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, the one in which they can explore each other in _all_ ways.

After their trials, life went on much as normal, except with significantly less interference. They enjoyed a quiet retirement of long walks, and longer debates, picnics, and good coffee and pastries from that cute, little shop with the classic Hollywood posters all over the walls.

They were strolling through St James’s Park when an adolescent on a scooter came out of nowhere, causing Crowley to jump back to avoid a collision. Aziraphale instinctively grabbed his arm to steady him.

There was no pain.

Crowley stared from Aziraphale’s hand, to his face, baffled.

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale’s voice was shaking. Then his fingertips were oh so tentatively stroking Crowley’s face. His skin was touching Crowley’s skin. His beautiful, soft, warm fingertips were brushing against Crowley’s cheek, and it didn’t hurt.

“Angel ... “ He hadn’t finished the word before their mouths were pressed desperately hard together, both of them clinging to the other and kissing like they’d never stop. Crowley had Aziraphale pinned to the fence in seconds, his hand grasping the top of the angel’s thigh so that his fingers pushed into the crease there. Aziraphale was moaning wildly into his mouth and pushing into the touch.

“Your flat … your bed, Crowley, now, please.”

Crowley obeyed, of course he did. They were kissing again even as they landed on his bed, rolling around, legs entwined and hands grasping wherever they could reach as they kissed until they were panting and soaked in sweat. Crowley growled possessively, hands sliding up Aziraphale’s thighs, parting them slightly so he could press one hand between them as Aziraphale rocked into it, both hands gripping Crowley’s biceps. 

“Please, love, don’t wait.”

Crowley reluctantly moved his hand so he could unbutton Aziraphale’s waistcoat and shirt, hissing softly in delight at each new part he bared, stopping every few seconds to press frantic kisses to the angel’s skin. Aziraphale moaned and tore Crowley’s own clothes from his body. Then suddenly, in a whirl of kisses and increasingly desperate explorations, he slithered on top of his angel, both of them naked, and Aziraphale was gazing at him with a wondering expression that quickly turned to worry.

“What is it, angel?”

“It’s just … we’ve known each other in such deep ways, Crowley. What if … if you don’t like this so much? What if it’s too ordinary … if I’m too ordinary. I know it’s silly. I know you love me...”

“I understand.” Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s hair back tenderly. “But there is no ‘ordinary’ with you. You are extraordinary. And this …” he punctuated his words with kisses to Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders “... is everything I’ve wanted since that day under the apple tree in Eden. I’ve dreamed of this …” He bent his head reverently to suck Aziraphale’s nipples, feeling the angel arch beneath him “.... and this ….” he ran his palm over the angel’s stomach “... for millennia.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him and Crowley’s entire body grew warmer, as if he was sitting beside a welcoming fire.

“You and me,” Crowley told him gently. “That’s all it takes for this to be perfect. Just us, finally getting to touch one another.”

Aziraphale nodded agreement, running his hands up Crowley’s sides.

“I’m never going to get used to this. I wanted to touch you, oh Crowley, I longed for it. And now I can.”

“Mmm, as much as you want to.” Crowley leaned down and kissed him again, taking his time now, savouring the way Aziraphale surged beneath him, leaving an afterimage so bright that Crowley knew he was seeing his true form too, shining and weaving around Crowley’s own. At first he kissed back enthusiastically, but as Crowley pressed closer, gently pushing the angel’s legs wider apart so he could settle between them and push against him, he was reduced to moaning against Crowley’s mouth, hands reaching down to grab his backside and pull him closer.

“Good God,” he groaned. “I can hardly decide if I want to savour every moment, or get as much of you as I can this very instant.”

“It has been six thousand years,” Crowley murmured against his skin as he kissed down to his chest, sucking slowly against the skin there. “You’re allowed to be impatient. You can savour me later.”

Aziraphale’s answer was lost to a groan as Crowley licked a long stripe across his lower stomach. His fingers curled tight in Crowley’s hair, pleading silently. Crowley shuddered, wrapping his fingers around Aziraphale’s base, then licking slowly up the underside of his cock, tongue rubbing against the sensitive spot under the head. 

Aziraphale whined softly, thighs moving restlessly. Crowley smiled wickedly, teasing him as long as he could bear to, licking over and over and letting his tongue linger against the best places. 

But patience wasn’t Crowley’s favourite virtue at the best of times, and he’d yearned for so long. Slowly taking Aziraphale’s full length in his mouth, he revelled in the cry the movement pulled from the angel, the reflexive tightening of his hands in Crowley’s hair. Crowley gasped against the smooth, hot flesh, hands grabbing Aziraphale’s hips and pulling him deeper, urging him to move. 

Crowley drifted, lost in sensation, his senses flooded with the taste of salt and longing and something uniquely Aziraphale, like fresh ink bleeding into parchment. When the angel gently pulled him off, he looked up dazedly with a groan of protest.

“I, ah, thought I should stop you before I … well it would have seemed impolite not to check.”

Crowley growled low in his throat. “Angel … let me feel you.” He stroked Aziraphale’s thigh gently, eyes asking the question, is that alright? Do you want to do that with me? Aziraphale nodded quickly, and Crowley immediately wrapped both arms tight around his hips and drew his cock into his mouth, letting his tongue twist and slide in some very inhuman ways. 

Aziraphale panted, his skin slick with sweat under Crowley’s hands as his hips started to rock, pushing desperately into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley groaned, the vibration pulling a helpless sound of pleasure from Aziraphale, as Crowley’s own hips rocked against the sheets, his cock aching against the cool material.

“Crowley!”

It was a plea, a prayer, a shiver of celestial fire bathing the room in brightness as Aziraphale came, fisting his hands tightly in Crowley’s hair and flooding his mouth. Crowley was surprised to feel tears pricking his eyes at how perfectly, beautifully human it was. He lingered over the act of cleaning Aziraphale, slowly dragging his tongue over every inch, reluctant to stop. But he could tell from the change in the angel’s moans that he was getting over-sensitive, and his own cock was getting painfully hard, demanding attention. When Aziraphale pulled him up, he went easily, eager to be wherever Aziraphale wanted him to be. 

For a few minutes, all he could do was kiss his angel and murmur how much he loved him, cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hands. Aziraphale was making quiet pleading sounds against his mouth, hands stroking the length of his back, thick thighs wrapping around him. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered against Crowley’s tattoo as he pressed a kiss there, breath warm on the demon’s skin. “Tell me how I can make this good for you.”

“I want to come inside you,” Crowley told him honestly, and was thrilled by the shiver that ran through Aziraphale. 

“I want that too.” He reached for Crowley’s hand and pulled it down, spreading his legs invitingly. “I want all of you, in every way I can have you.”

Any answer Crowley might have made was lost to a whimper, as he carefully miracled his fingers slick and started stroking Aziraphale’s entrance. Aziraphale threw his head back on a soft keen, both hands gripping Crowley’s waist. Groaning, Crowley wrapped his fingers hard around his own base to keep from losing control. Then he slid a finger cautiously deeper, murmuring soothing nonsense against the angel’s ear as Aziraphale moaned and thrashed under the movement. He was so beautifully responsive that Crowley hardly knew how to bear it. He slid another finger in, stretching Aziraphale’s body gently and carefully. 

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale sounded completely wrecked. Crowley knew how he felt. Aziraphale reached between them and ran curious fingers over Crowley’s length. When he trailed them across the already-dripping head and then sucked them clean, Crowley nearly came there and then. Bracing himself, sure he wouldn’t last through the feeling of entering the angel, he tilted Aziraphale’s face up for a tender kiss and slowly slid inside him.

“Crowley …” Aziraphale breathed, his lips softly brushing the demon’s. Crowley moaned quietly in response, a low, urgent sound. Aziraphale reached down and unashamedly grabbed his backside.

“Don’t wait,” he murmured. “Take your pleasure in me.”

As if Crowley could hear those words, in a tone so dripping with lust, and do anything but obey. He slid his hips forward carefully, pushing deeper. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Crowley muttered, wrapping both arms tight around Aziraphale and resting his head against the angel’s shoulder, his whole body shuddering. 

He rocked his hips forward a few times, slow and careful, encouraged by the moans that fell from Aziraphale’s lips each time. Keening softly, he began to move faster, stunned by the feel of Aziraphale clenching against him, the heat of his body and the salt of his sweat-damp curls as Crowley moved to kiss his forehead. Aziraphale’s hands were on Crowley’s hips, pulling him in over and over and crying out each time. 

There was so much he wanted to say. That he loved Aziraphale, had always loved him, that when they were in the space beyond the stars, he suspected that he’d loved Aziraphale before he’d loved God, that he could spend eons trying to find the words for how one brief glance undid him, but no words would come. All he could do was rock into the angel repeatedly, sobbing with pleasure and the relief of six thousand years of wanting. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t stop touching him, his hands exploring every inch of Crowley’s body as they moved together until he started to lose control, head thrown back, panting hard as Crowley took him faster. Crowley was enraptured by every cry, every movement, the beauty of Aziraphale’s face as he gasped Crowley’s name, the way his body instinctively moved with Crowley’s, as if speaking a language they’d known forever. 

“Angel,” he managed to growl in Aziraphale’s ear. “Can’t hold back.”

“Then don’t.” Aziraphale gazed up at him, eyes as vivid as a dusk sky. Crowley smiled adoringly as he gazed back. When he closed his eyes, lost to pleasure, he felt Azirphale’s true form twined tight around his own, white fire kissing glossy dark wheels as as he came deep inside his angel, hips stuttering. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, stroking Crowley’s cheek tenderly as he shuddered and whined. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Crowley gasped, leaning into his touch, hips still grinding slightly through the slow, aching aftershocks. Aziraphale’s free hand was caressing Crowley’s hip soothingly as he watched him with avid attention that made Crowley’s cheeks heat slightly.

“That was perfect, angel,” he said honestly, as he sank down on top of Aziraphale, cheek resting against his collarbone and hands roaming lazily over his chest and belly.

“You’re perfect,” Aziraphale muttered against his hair as he pressed a kiss there. 

Crowley looked up at the angel. “I really bloody love you, you know that?”

“I am aware.” Aziraphale smiled tenderly, pulling Crowley up so he could kiss him with the easy languor of one who knows he has all the time in the world, hooking one leg around Crowley’s hip as if to discourage him from moving away. One hand explored the length of Crowley’s arm, fingertips circling the elbow, petting over the tendons, softly tickling inside the wrist. “My heart is yours.”

“You old romantic,” Crowley teased, nosing along Aziraphale’s jaw. “You’ll have us moving to a little cottage and raising chickens and sitting on the porch like old men, next.”

Aziraphale grew quiet, his eyes faraway for a moment, before he looked back at Crowley tenderly. 

“Would that be so bad?” he asked.

“No, angel.” Crowley leaned up to kiss him again, tongue pressing lightly into his mouth, making him gasp and roll his hips against Crowley’s. “That wouldn’t be bad at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are fuel for authors - I'd love to hear what you think.
> 
> Meanwhile, why not check out my other touch-starved fics? 
> 
> [The Arrangement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375358) \- my take on how the Arrangement began. Crowley cannot bear to be touched by anyone except Aziraphale - but that brings up feelings neither is ready to confront.
> 
> [Breath of Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24432349) \- a companion piece to The Arrangement. The healing from The Arrangement, from Aziraphale's point of view. 
> 
> [Heavensbloom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179726/chapters/63705097) \- a dark, angsty romance set in the time of King Arthur. Featuring a dark, angsty Crowley, a bold and loving Aziraphale, and plenty of romance, tenderness, drama and pining.


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